


Consecration

by Spatial



Series: Sierenn Saga [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls Online
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Smut, F/F, Misuse of Chapels, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2018-01-11
Packaged: 2019-03-03 10:22:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13339245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spatial/pseuds/Spatial
Summary: A Queen is seen, but a good Queen sees.So having not seen something so vital, and so seemingly at odds with her goals… Ayrenn may have let queenly pride blind her too long, to a truth she was unwilling to see.[An A/B/O HEA version of Ayrenn and Sielaire's romance diverting from Raison D'etre at the start of the Unification Campaign.]





	Consecration

**Author's Note:**

> _Alternatively: Fire and Lightning_  
>  Soundtrack: _Electric Chapel_ -Lady Gaga
> 
> (This and any future A/B/Overse from me will always be as non-rapey and non-dubcon as possible.)

 "Please  _drink_ , Your Majesty," Sielaire sets the goblet down next to Ayrenn, having picked it up to examine it-  _again_. Ayrenn's lips twitch in annoyance at the title- she's asked the guards of her entourage to drop it, to call her Ayrenn,  _this_ guard though, seems most stubborn in refusing to let her name slip through her lips- and at her tone. Sielaire has been on edge all week, since their last sparring match.

Particularly disappointing because of how well Ayrenn had thought it was going- not the sparring  _per se_ , the battlereeve was talented and dedicated, and despite their different approaches it would be an even match between them- if Sielaire didn't insist on silently, near-imperceptibly holding back. No, it was her own, more personal conquest that had seen progress. During the rigor and intensity that was their sparring, Ayrenn was positive- absolutely certain- she had seen stubbornly stoic guard,  _smirk._

It had been a beautiful thing, transforming her dark features into something powerfully intimidating, and dreadfully attractive. It heated her, to know  _she_  was the one responsible for it, and Ayrenn had felt instantly she was playing with fire- and wanted more.

But of course, Sielaire had seen her visceral response, stared into her eyes and seemed to see into her very heart- or maybe something much more…  _physical,_  and promptly put an end to their fun. After brief conversation of inane smalltalk, Sielaire had taken leave of her.

Ayrenn had watched out of the corner of her eye, perfect image of feigned indifference as Sielaire had spoken jerkily to Urcelmo, then hied off towards the center of the town they were camped outside of. Ayrenn had grown increasingly upset and had almost convinced herself to slip away and drag the woman out of whichever  _wench's_ bed Sielaire had been warming with the energy  _she_  had created, when she'd noticed Sielaire's unexpected and anticlimactic return.

But instead of things going back to normal, Ayrenn's entire entourage seemed to be feeding off their anxious tension.

Ayrenn was  _sure_ that day had been the start of it. The typically orderly soldiers had been brusk and quick-tempered. Raised voices led to bruises and broken noses. Ayrenn was disappointed, these were the best of the best, and by all accounts, their journey had barely begun. For things to have already digressed to this level of petty fighting and bickering was highly disheartening, and coupled with her own thwarted pursuits, genuinely  _frustrating_.

And as they had sat around the fire, the night after, Ayrenn finding solace in a bit of drink passed her way by none other than Sielaire herself. She'd been quiet and aloof all day… well, no more than usual, but for whatever reason, Ayrenn had found herself irked by her guard's stoic ways on that day.

So it had seemed almost an apology, when Sielaire had passed her the goblet the first time. And if the mead had seemed a little more bitter, a tad oddly floral, the reassurance of Sielaire taking a precautionary sip before her had put the thought from Ayrenn's mind.

And the drink did help, she had awoke feeling clearer of mind, thoughts straying far from the bedroll just outside her tent where Sielaire lay, half blocking the entrance, guarding even in sleep though her watch had ended hours ago, in the dark of early morning.

By mid-day, the foot-soldiers had grown antsy again, and Ayrenn noticed a few officers shifting uncomfortably on their mounts.

"Do we need to stop?" She had asked, Sielaire and Urcelmo each pulling up and falling back respectively to flank her on either side.

"A break couldn't hurt-" Urcelmo started, even as Sielaire spoke.

"Better to walk it off-"

Sielaire looked uncomfortable, but nodded in deferment. They were to take a short break, but as Ayrenn rode to different groups as they broke out of formation, Sielaire was nearly plastered to her side. And at the time, Ayrenn thought nothing of it, but everytime they had come to a stop, Sielaire had situated her own mount on Ayrenn's right, the side from which Ayrenn typically dismounted. And before she realized it, the company was moving along again, and she had spent the entire hour break on her horse, within arm's reach of her favorite, delicious smelling, guard.

When they stopped at night, Sielaire again plied her with wine, stuck close to her side, and slept nearly at her feet.

The next morning went smoothly, until the guards grew restless again by mid-day…

And the pattern continued.

* * *

So now it was, a week later, and Ayrenn found she was quite tired of this particular drink.

"I think I'll have what they're having," she informed Sielaire.

Sielaire stared at her incredulously.  _Was she serious?_  The Queen needed to finish the dose in  _this_ drink, and apparently more, since her  _damned heat_  insisted on simmering below the surface like a festering boil. In their youth, her younger brother Virano had been fine for months with the amount Sielaire had mixed into the Queen's drink. She wondered if perhaps the market stall she had found the remedy in was sub-par, or if there was something about Ayrenn's queenly blood that made it run so damn hot. You'd think it was the woman's first heat with how she threw her scent around, it was driving Sielaire mad, had been since she'd first seen the fires stoked in Ayrenn's eyes during their last bout. The alphas amongst the guard were irritable, the faint, barely contained scent of an omega in near heat devoiding their brains of the blood necessary to not act like untried youths.

Sielaire still had trouble processing the idea.  _An Omega Queen_. Is this why there was such resistance? So much friction between her and her family?  _Gods but she wore it well_ , Sielaire thought,  _I never would have guessed_. The ruse of including alphas as well as betas amongst the men and women of her guard was well played, but Sielaire wasn't sure the risk involved was quite worth it, not when Ayr-  _the Queen_ , let her determination override her personal safety.

After that bout, with as delicate of wording as possible, unsure of who all was in on the know and who wasn't, Sielaire had sussed out that the Queen didn't have any suppressants.

That certainly explained the look Ayrenn had given her. It had been pure, unadulterated, heat-lust. It had broken Sielaire's concentration completely: she'd had to call the match off short. She'd had to head off to town before anyone noticed the tightening response beneath her codpiece.

So as to not raise suspicion, she'd slipped the Queen the necessary potion in her mead with a telling look, and Ayrenn had complied…  _then._

Sielaire had spent all week, doing her best to mask and confuse the heady omega scent persistently wafting off the queen,  _and now she wants forgo the suppressant completely_?

But Sielaire is bound. She holds her oath in high honor, and will not verbally contradict her Queen, nor do anything that could publicly shame or out her. So she withdraws. Watches as Ayrenn walks to a group of soldiers and makes small talk with them, thankful, genuine words and gestures.

She puts a hand on a young man, and Sielaire is halfway across the clearing, green sparks dancing from her fingers, when the Queen withdraws, the boy- man that had just been touched by her turning to say something to the soldier next to him.

Betas then.

Blessedly unaware of the frenzied pheromones thick as smoke in the air. Sielaire shakes the charge from her hand, grounding it subtly down her leg, embarrassed at her own reaction. She was courting disaster.

_How am I going to survive tomorrow?_

* * *

Turn's out it wasn't Sielaire at risk for not making it through the next day, but Urcelmo.

He moved, just a hair too fast, toward Ayrenn. Hand outreached, merely to hand her a scroll, not even to touch her. But Sielaire had been behind Ayrenn on the trail all morning, bathed in her pheromones and the challenging scents of the other alphas in the troop. And the night before, she had sat, restless, at her tent, listening as the Queen stirred fretfully throughout the night, breath hitching erratically before she was able to sleep. Sielaire had endured the sweet torture, trying in vain to convince herself she was hearing the queen's nightmares and not her heat-fuelled fantasies.

So Urcelmo would have to forgive her lapse in protocol, when Sielaire sent her fist flying into his armored gut.

He was knocked to the ground as Sielaire inserted herself between him and Ayrenn. He looked up at her incredulously until her low growling registered. His face went from insulted to empathetic, which, combined with him offering his hand up to Sielaire, was enough to startle some sense into her. Hand still smarting from the blow, she pulled him up off the ground, apologizing, Ayrenn at her back, demanding an explanation.

"I'm so sorry, you're beta, I-"

"And  _you're_ not the Omega half the company has been speculating you are," he countered quietly.

Sielaire was determined to give nothing away, but when Ayrenn pushed between them, Sielaire's shoulders squared up intimidatingly, and Urcelmo had his answer.

"What is going on with you two? Has half the guard lost their  _damned_ minds?"

Her two closest guards… closest thing she had to friends, turned to look at her her, confusion evident- outright on Urcelmo's face, and hidden in the minute wrinkle between Sielaire's brows. And suddenly, Ayrenn had the feeling that she'd quite  _missed_ something. Something  _important_.

"Sielaire… I do believe I'll let you handle this A/O thing since you're more  _versed_ in it than I."

Sielaire chokes at his wording, but Urcelmo is already gone, calling out orders to select members of the guard, creating a perimeter of safety and, more importantly, privacy.

"Sielaire... what A/O thing?"

That pretty much confirms Sielaire's suspicions but she doesn't... understand. She wanders to the edge of the wood lining the road they travelled, needing the few minutes to collect herself.

"Your Majesty, he was talking about your Heat."

"I don't get  _heats,_ Sielaire, that's an omega thing. Maybe a Khajiit thing, too, I've never asked-"

"You are Omega."

"Sielaire." Ayrenn's voice was hard, "I assure you, I am not." She cut off the wayward guard before she could speak again. "I would think I would know better than Ucerlmo, it being  _my_  body and all."

"Your Maj-"

" _Ayrenn_ ," she corrects, "How many times have I  _asked_? It's just  _Ayrenn_  to you," if her voice cracked on the last word, Sielaire didn't point it out. However, she also did not say her name.

"Urcelmo might not be an expert on this, but I assure you,  _I am_."

Alphas and Omegas were thought to make up about half the mer populations, though density varied, and a large number of Omegas used potions to suppress their heats and live their lives as unfettered Betas like the remaining population.

 _Like herself_ , Ayrenn thought. She shook her head, "I'm not Omega. I've never cared for the posturing of some macho Alpha, never had a heat-" she lost her voice then, focus fading into the distance as a wave of emotion washed over her. Ayrenn had the distinct sense that the feeling was not her own, and her nose twitched subtly, eyes snapping back to Sielaire, who stood there, glaring at her silently. Daring her to ask the question on her lips. So she doesn't.

"I've never had a heat. I'm well past adolescence."

"You're still young. Its unusual, but not unheard of."

"I'm hardly a virgin-" her voice caught on the last word as another wave of… well, she refused to call it heat, so… intensity, washed over her.

Her throat suddenly felt very dry, and Sielaire seemed… too… far away. And the tips of her ears were the brightest, most alluring red…

"...matter?"

She realized she had missed most of what Sielaire had asked, "hmm?"

"I said, why would  _that_ matter?"

"Doesn't that … trigger something?"

"Maybe... if it had been with an Alpha."

Ayrenn shook her head and used the motion to peel her eyes from Sielaire's, "Nobody in my family is… an Omega." But Ayrenn knew even as she said it that it could very well be untrue.

"That's largely irrelevant. My brother's Omega, my sister is Beta."

"And… you-" the wave hit her again, this time while looking at Sielaire, and she  _knew_. Knew this wave of deep emotion was a deliberate onslaught on her senses. "You're Alpha…"  _A needy caress. The shove a knee. Teeth against skin_. That's what this smelled like-  _No._

No, it didn't smell like anything. It was in her head. The power of suggestion. Sielaire's own magnetic draw on her that came from the battlereeve's attractiveness, no matter her place in the sexual hierarchy.

"Yes-" Sielaire admitted even as Ayrenn rebelled against the thought.

"-that doesn't mean I'm Omega! It doesn't prove anything. Just because I-"

"I've been putting Alpha's Bane in your mead." It was said without emotion, a weighty confession. "It's a suppressant… it keeps omegas from going into heat… it doesn't seem to be working fully."

"Well  _Probably_ , Because I don't have a heat to suppress!  _And-_ " she cut off Sielaire's protestations, " _to prove it to you_ , I won't be drinking any more of your would-be suppressant,  _Battlereeve_."

Sielaire's hopes and her face fell.

 

The next few days were genuinely awful, for everyone.

 

Despite Urcelmo attempting to run interference, Sielaire ended up breaking apart nearly as many brawls as she herself got into. And Ayrenn found with every punch thrown, every sizzling spark of magicka that erupted from Sielaire's fingers, every stormy gaze hurled her way… she was drawn more and more toward the brooding battlereeve.

She wanted those hands on  _her,_ to feel that power and control, to be the center of Sielaire's attention...

And it was ever so  _hot._

 

They arrived outside a small town much like so many others on their journey- built along the hills of a fertile river valley, a small cluster of souls and structures, banded together for protection and comfort- with a few local quirks distinguishing it from various others. The roofs of this town were clay tile in lieu of the more typical thatch, and the dark husk of a small chapel sat in a crescent clearing on the rise opposite the valley from the main gate, timbers hugging once holy grounds seemingly left abandoned in favor of more secular improvements for the town. Per routine, they would make camp for a few days, hold meetings with the town leadership, take care of what troubles they could, and be generally agreeable to the townsfolk. It was a simple part of a larger campaign, and one Ayrenn typically enjoyed, but despite the idyllic scene, Ayrenn found her heart, and her focus, were elsewhere.

She had watched at camp break as Sielaire had forgone her usual duty of erecting Ayrenn's tent, instead taking several long lengths of rope and sectioning off a sparring circle. Ayrenn's hopes had soared, only for Sielaire to roar out a challenge to the group of soldiers who had been knocking each other around all week.

"Any of you shitheels wants to fight, you fight  _me_."

* * *

Ayrenn assembled her own tent that afternoon, a task well within her usual ability made overlong and clumsy by her inability to focus on anything besides the sparring circle.

Sielaire was in fine,  _fine_  form. The first two challengers had charged her like beasts, and she had dispatched them each in swift, deliberate maneuvers that left them lying unconscious on the ground.

The next had grabbed a sword. Sielaire had spent longer with her, forcing the young guard into an unrelenting offensive as Sielaire easily blocked blow after blow with her bracer, silently goading her opponent on. The sword had dropped from the exhausted woman's hand as she fell forward, nearly collapsing into Sielaire, who caught her almost gently but left her too, unconscious at the edge of the circle.

The pile, and Ayrenn's ardor, grew.

She was distracted the next day, and called the canonreeve's wife by her dog's name over dinner. Urcelmo had made hasty apologies as he ushered them back out the gates, but all Ayrenn could think about was going at it with Sielaire- in the sparring ring, of course.

"Spar with me," Ayrenn purred again that evening.

"Now is not a good time, Your Majesty." It had become a standard reply. Apparently Sielaire thought she could hide behind a deferral, without giving her an outright 'no'. Ayrenn was quite through with it.

"Well, if you won't spar with me, I'll find someone else who will."

 

She could feel Sielaire's eyes on her, could smell the answering attraction within the soldier, and with a surety she didn't deign to examine, she knew  _exactly_  who wouldn't say "No" to her simple request.

Andralda was a squarer woman with arms thick as Sielaire's head, who had been doing her own share of head-bashing the last week, though she had been smart enough to steer clear of Sielaire and Ayrenn.

… but Ayrenn had caught her eye, on more than one occasion. Aye, she was interested, alright.

And so she was within ten steps of the company blacksmith when Sielaire grabbed her hand.

 

The touch was electric and Ayrenn had to spare a glance at their fingers to make sure her magic wasn't flaring. Because,  _oh_ , did she not want to look away from the face revealed to her.

Desire.

Pain.

Surrender.

 _Heat_.

Everything Sielaire kept hidden, laid bare, for the briefest of moments.

" _Ayrenn_ , walk with me."

* * *

Sielaire led them away from the camp, the town. Travel pack thrown hastley over one shoulder. She wondered what she was getting herself into, but was helpless to pull away now.

She'd dealt with omegas in heat before, resisted the subconscious pull at her loins. It had been harder in her youth, running through the rows of apple trees, masking the scent of their neighbors daughter in her first heat with the familiar cloying sweetness of the apple blossoms. Running had almost been her downfall then. Aye, it gets you further away, but then you're taking in big lungfuls of air as you catch your breath, coating your insides with need.

But she'd ran far enough to convince her body she wouldn't make it back in time, and instead climbed a tree, and vigorously stroked herself to exhaustion.

Soon after, her study of magic would provide other means of exhaustion- and release.

Later, time amongst fighters would come to show her how to best direct her strength,

and years as a soldier led to hard-learned self control.

But age had taught her the value of disengagement, or at the very least, how to pick her battles.

So Sielaire was sure she  _could_ have resisted the siren call of Ayrenn's heat, suppressant or not.

What she could not resist, she was coming to realize, was Ayrenn herself. Her smiles and teases that begged for response. Sielaire was sure it was a side effect of her heat, but Ayrenn seemed so  _physical_ , in her emotions, her affections.

Even now, hands entwined as they walked, navigating under the twilight sky, Ayrenn gestured with her whole body toward the river bank, spun them in circles around a patch of nightblooms, arched her whole torso backwards as she admired the constellations above.

Sielaire watched and listened to the little things that brought her Queen joy, and wondered how it was she had come to be counted among those things. For when Ayrenn looked at her, her smile grew, her handed tightened in Sielaire's, and there was more than heat lust in her eyes… though still a very potent dose of it.

Sielaire only convinced Ayrenn to relinquish her hand with the promise of food. She stood knee deep in the shallow water, and sent Ayrenn a dozen or so yards downstream to wait on the bank. She waded patiently as fish swam along to either side of her, still as stone.

"What's wrong Sielaire, did you get  _cold feet_?" Ayrenn taunted, laughing as Sielaire's ear twitched in response, when she suddenly surged forward, a bolt of green magic arcing between her hands, submerged on either side of the unfortunate salmon that had chosen to swim between the twin pillars of Sielaire's legs. She heard Ayrenn's sharp intake of breath as she grabbed the dead fish before it could slip downstream with the current toward Ayrenn.

"So versatile," Ayrenn cooed teasingly, as Sielaire used her magic to start the fire, "what else can you do with those hands?"

Sielaire smirked, "You have no idea."

"Oh?"

Setting their catch to roast, Sielaire nodded,"Maybe I'll show you sometime."

 _You'd better_ , Ayrenn thought, as need lanced through her.

* * *

They were settled at the transom of the ruined chapel, under the portion of roof that hadn't collapsed in the apparent fire. There were signs they weren't the first to make their bed here, the fire ring they'd found had been bare of wood but full of cinders, leaves and husks were scattered about the uneven stone floor, and Ayrenn's eyes followed the char mark on the far wall up to a twisted glob of melted lead and glass, hanging from a beam that had crashed through rose window. The light from their fire danced across the various hues of the twisted remnants of what Ayrenn realized had once been a stained glass mural. "How hot was the fire that caused that?" Ayrenn wondered, Sielaire following her eyes to the front of the building, under where the steeple would have set.

"That wasn't fire." Ayrenn's face snapped back to hers, as she continued, "That was lightening."

They ate in relative silence, each on one of the bedrolls Sielaire had grabbed, Ayrenn's back against the stone wall that still radiated the warmth of the day. Sielaire sat with her elbows on her knees and stared into the fire as all other distractions faded away.

It was simply her, Ayrenn… and  _heat_.

She can feel it sweeping over them, hears the hitch in Ayrenn's breath as her breathing shallows out, comes in short, ragged pants… knows her own aroused scent must be coating Ayrenn's lungs, stoking the fire that's been smouldering for days, weeks.

It's the heady gasps of her not-nightmares, and Sielaire has the sudden wonder if her own nearness hasn't been what pulled out Ayrenn's heat in the first place. If so, she knows she  _should_ , but can't bring herself to regret it.

Her Queen pants her name, and Sielaire is helpless to look away.

Because in Ayrenn's eyes she sees it again, that Look. It would bring gods to their knees, and Sielaire…

Sielaire is a mere mortal.

And seeing that  _that_  look in Ayrenn's eyes that tipped Sielaire off weeks ago to what was happening, is back, part of her realizes this was all so  _fucking inevitable_.

All Ayrenn has to do is choke out a nearly desperate "please" and Sielaire moves forward. She seals her lips in a kiss, and like a spark to kindling, it's instantaneous combustion.

 

Sielaire worships Ayrenn's body, kissing everywhere as the fevered queen hastley disrobes. A kiss to the pulse point at her wrist. A stroke of her tongue along the bottom curve of a rib. A soft nip at the sinew of her calf.

Ayrenn locks a bare thigh behind Sielaire's head and pulls her in closer. Sielaire's lips tease her sensitive flesh as her core aches for deeper contact, but she feels the thick fabric of Sielaire's sleeve slide along her bare legs and pauses.  _This is Sielaire_ , who refuses to accept their equal footing as women who want each other. She knows Sielaire will have her lost in bliss and bundled back up none the wiser if she doesn't take control, take what she wants as well. So Ayrenn flips them, pulls her up into a kiss as Sielaire settles their positions, Ayrenn practically in her lap, knees at each other's hips. Ayrenn breaks the kiss and looks down, sees the strain in Sielaire's leggings.

"Sielaire, I want you..."

Sielaire groans in a barely masked whimper, knows Ayrenn was watching as her words caused a twitch along the seam as her engorged, elongated clit surged toward it's target.

"I want to taste you-" Ayrenn whispers. Sielaire clamps her eyes closed and shakes her head no. Ayrenn's heart aches, and she strokes Sielaire's sleeve-bound arms. "Sielaire, I want to touch  _you,_ too." Sielaire whimpers again. Ayrenn slides a hand along til it finds the exposed skin of Sielaire's neck. Fingers trace a dancing caress up to the curve of her ear, stroking along the sensitive ridges, feeling the minute jerk as Sielaire turns her cheek into the featherlight pressure.

"Please?" Ayrenn whispers. And whether it's the addictive promise of Ayrenn's touch, or a desire to stifle her Queen's need to beg of anything, Sielaire isn't sure, but she relents. Gives in to what they both desire.

Ayrenn's eyes hunger to learn her body as she removes her clothes,  _gods, that look is as addictive as skooma and twice as sweet_. Sielaire hesitates at her leggings, until Ayrenn traces a finger along the hemline and her hips jump like some unbroken filly. In a flash there are no more barriers between them, and they rejoin with a profusion of gentle strokes and inquirious kisses that bears very little resemblance to the furor of heat madness.

Ayrenn did get to taste her, eventually, later, as Sielaire lapped at and stroked her from below. Her thumb traced Sielaire's hip bone as the other explored the silky length of Sielaire's thigh, feeling the coiled muscles below the surface responding to her touch almost as readily as the length of her at Ayrenn's lips. And while Ayrenn marveled at the pulsing  _life_ of her, she ground her hips against Sielaire's face with a seemingly insatiable want.

But Ayrenn was back on top when Sielaire guided her hips to a rest against her thighs, her clit nestled against Ayrenn's folds. Ayrenn admired their contrasts, even here. The red lick of flame had touched Sielaire's curly fur here as well, while her own blonde fuzz was kept silky smooth and barely noticable against her skin.

She was rocking subconsciously, stroking Sielaire intimately against her core, the shlick of their juices turning friction into a wet, heated pressure. Sielaire's hands gripped her hips and added force to the rocking, and Ayrenn's grip tightened on Sielaire's chest, barely keeping balance. Her other hand roamed. Stroking Sielaire, pulling at her own nipple, biting down on her knuckle… when she moved to cup Sielaire's length, her lover's breath hitched in escalation.

Sielaire's hands lifted Ayrenn up, and on the next downward rock, Ayrenn's hand guided her length home in a single thrust. They both shouted out, a keening joyous cry from Ayrenn, and something deep and guttural was ripped from Sielaire as her hips shuddered against Ayrenn.

Sielaire felt the inevitable pulse of her swiftly forming knot at the base of her clit, and quickly rolled them over. She needed the extra control as Ayrenn bucked wildly against her, the wet sounds of their coupling and tangled breaths and moans doing their best to drown out all thought from her mind.

Sielaire restrained herself, thrusting into Ayrenn only as far as the start of the knot, made easier as it grew to a size that wouldn't easily slide into her, even with her knees splayed as they were and their combined juices dripping to the bed roll. Reassured, she let her herself get lost in the noises coming from Ayrenn. There was familiarity to times they sparred, the involuntarily grunts of effort leading into a lunge, the shortened breath when blocking a hit, the sigh of released magick… Sielaire knew she was ruined for it. Would never be able to spar with her again without this visceral memory.

It would be a sweet and proudly borne torture.

 

Ayrenn is half out of her mind, she knows she doesn't fully comprehend everything about a/o coupling,  _heats_ ,  _whatever_. But she knows Sielaire is making her feel  _so good_ , everything is more intense than it's ever been, but there's one thought her body latches on to, and sends now to her lips to repeat like a mantra,  _more_. "More, Sielaire,  _More_!"  
Sielaire is not nearly as inexperienced, not by a long shot. She knows exactly what Ayrenn's newly awakened Omega body is demanding, but refuses to accept that it's actually Ayrenn asking for it. She tells herself that Ayrenn doesn't fully comprehend what she's asking for, everything it might mean beyond what it would feel like in the moment.  
To be knotted would be risking pregnancy and her immediate safety… and an errant lust-hazed bite would bond them far more intimately than their fledgling friendship called for. For mer, that is a deeply entwining experience- it is a  _mating_. A forever sort of linking of your sexual future, a marking on your body and your very soul.  
But Ayrenn's body might understand Sielaire's importance more instinctually than either of them could possibly realize. Her inner omega keens and pleas and grasps at Sielaire, her alpha, her  _mate. Let it be so,_ it screams,  _take me, take everything, be mine._

But Sielaire is steadfast in refusing to oblige her ( _at least, at this time_ ). She pretends like Ayrenn's mewls for "more" mean other things-  _faster, deeper, harder_ … and delivers. Ayrenn is nearly swept away each time… but her body is not sated.

Ayrenn grows frustrated enough for her head to wake back up and realize Sielaire is definitely holding something back, and it annoys Ayrenn enough despite the pleasure still coursing through her - which is admittedly also Sielaire's doing- that she tries the last thing in her book. Something Sielaire has without a doubt responded to in the past.

She straight up Orders it. "More, Sielaire, do it, I Order You."

Sielaire growls in frustration and flips them around again, straddling one of Ayrenn's thighs and raising the other leg to press against her shoulder, toes pointed to the sky like the chapel's long lost steeple. The position giving her the access she needs… not for what Ayrenn intended maybe, but "more" nonetheless… Her fingers find Ayrenn's clit, and as she continues to drive into her, grind into her where they're connected, she calls forth her magick, and with precision borne of as much concentration as she could muster and decades of practice (mostly on herself), she sends a tiny maelstrom of magical energy pulsing between her fingers, as they furiously stroke her Queen.

To sexual oblivion.

* * *

Ayrenn awakes some hours later, sated and happy, Sielaire draped across her with a familiarity her heart has been longing for. Her head is clear and she assumes, correctly, the heat must have faded.  _Did we burn it off then, Sielaire? It hardly matters, when your lightning is hotter than the fire of my heat,_ Ayrenn thinks with a smile.

She brushes the wayward tendrils of red hair behind Sie's ears, slowly petting her in a nonsexual but still deeply intimate way. The way of a lover. She knows when Sielaire awakens, feels her burrow deeper into the embrace for a blissful heart-soaring moment before stiffening and pulling away.

And in that moment Ayrenn realizes she still has a challenge ahead of her, a fight for this ember elf. She who gave her her body, when Ayrenn wanted that and so much more.

Sielaire tries to be subtle about untangling their limbs, masking the maneuver as an early morning stretch. Ayrenn isn't fooled, but vows to play the long game instead of pushing her advantage now.

When they are again laying with each other instead of  _with_  each other, Sielaire clears her throat and dives into an emotionless explanation of all knotting would entail. Discomfort, if timed wrong, immense pain if a life and death situation required a knotted couple part before the swelling had time to ceed… She was very careful in not saying "we", in not implying that she meant herself and the Queen, or that there would be a next time.

She explained how any alpha could get any omega pregnant, and the fertility rates amongst those individuals were nearly 100%. A resulting pregnancy  _could_  be terminated, but left alone, would nearly always result in a birth, and an omega in their prime would be likely to have twins or even more, with multiple births being more common than a single child.

And while Ayrenn considered the risks of bringing a child into this uncertain life they lived, Sielaire continued.

Mating, for mer, was the ill-understood magical escalation of knotting, sealed with a piercing, primal bite. It bands the pair's libidos together. Their heat/rut cycles sync up and they can only find relief in each other. And when one member dies, it doesn't release the remaining party. It's forever, and anything else is shallow and unfulfilling. "It ties people together, Ayrenn. Binds them. Forever. Do you understand?"

"Yes Sielaire, I do."

 

Sielaire intended her words as a warning.

Ayrenn heard them as a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't... actually... played ESO... so forgive any noncanon-weirdness.  
> Thank you, Lycoriseum for putting up with all my questions lol
> 
> This is also my first extensive smut piece or A/B/O work.  
> Ayrenn is 'young' for an Altmer (long lifespans), but is an adult in her twenties here.
> 
> May write a follow up later, since we have already named their kids.


End file.
